


We Will Never Be Here Again

by ChainKinnix



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Earn Your Happy Ending, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, I know nothing about funeral directing, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Memory Loss, Past Lives, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, eventual dark shit, eventually, mortician au, rey is a literal ray of sunshine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainKinnix/pseuds/ChainKinnix
Summary: Kylo Ren is the God of Death in Ancient Greece. He is dethroned and cursed, forced to commit a selfless act of courage in order to regain his place.In the meantime, he's thrown into the modern world and has no clue who he is.--Luke nods and says, “Alright, well we’ll head out after you’re done with your cereal. I don’t know how Reyna got you to eat that crap, I feel my teeth rotting from here.”Rey rolls her eyes and looks at the strange man. He’s staring back at her, looking simultaneously like he can see into her soul and like he can’t figure her out at all. “It's her favourite,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which she supposes it is to him, considering the lack of memory he has right now. It’s not like that fact about her is wrestling any other facts in his mind.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 50
Kudos: 61
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stays sitting silently in the chair while Luke is gone. He doesn’t have the energy to explore the room further, and he isn’t sure he wants to. Everything he sees proves to him more and more that he has no idea what’s going on. He feels wrong in his skin, in the world around him, and in his mind. He feels like a vessel to confusion, even the things that are vaguely familiar to him feel far away. His identity feels like it’s been shrunk to an atom, buried deep inside his stomach, like he’s been made to feel like an imposter in his own body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHTY so I have no idea if this idea is going to work out but we’re gonna give it a shot. I have a Bachelor’s in Ancient History so my goal is to make this as historically accurate as possible under the circumstances, but I could still get things wrong, so let me know. My degree is in Ancient Greek History specifically and not so much mythology/classics so I’ll do my best to do my research but again, let me know if you have any concerns about any mythology I incorporate. Obviously suspend your disbelief concerning the actual God of Death, but you know the drill. Translations will be in the end notes. You don’t need to know what he’s saying here and can probably figure it out from context clues, but they’re there.

* * *

The air smells foul. He hears distant chatter drowned out by… sound. So much sound. His head is throbbing and his hips are sore from lying on the ground. He closes his hands over his ears and slowly opens his eyes. _Τί γίγνεται?_ He sees the ground he is laying on – a rough, dark surface he doesn’t recognize. The wall opposite him is comprised of smooth red bricks. He turns his eyes upward and gasps, seeing how tall the buildings he is laying between are.  
The sun is bright over his head, midday, he thinks distantly.

The sun doesn’t look as bright as he feels it should, the air not as clear. He slowly removes his hands from his ears and winces, his senses being assaulted. He takes a deep breath and immediately regrets it, his lungs burning and his tongue beginning to taste sour. It’s too loud, it’s unclean, the surfaces around him hard and unnatural. He closes his eyes again, attempting to calm himself down and make some sense of what’s happening to him.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before a door opens next to him. He jerks his eyes open, pushing himself into a seated position against the wall to watch. An old man exits holding a black sack and carries it over to a large blue metal box, the opening of which tells him that is where the foul smell stems from. He eyes the man, noting his unusual clothing, fabrics of different colours adorning his body. He looks down at his own body and notes he is wearing nothing at all. It doesn’t bother him save for the chill that stirs the air, and he pulls his legs up and into his chest for warmth.

The old man hears his shifting and turns to look at him, bright blue eyes considering him with caution. He doesn’t break eye contact with the man, a sudden rush of indignation washing over him. He opens his mouth to speak, his throat dry and sore.

“Τίς εἶ σύ?” he says with a rough voice.

The old man’s eyebrows rise, “Come again?” the old man replies.

“Come…again,” he stutters out, feeling the words in his mouth. They feel unusual but familiar.

“Right… You okay, kid? You get mugged?” the old man asks him, looking down at his body.

“I… don’t think so,” he says slowly, searching his memory. He can’t remember a thing. He doesn’t know why, but this feels wrong.

“You got any clothes?” the old man asks.

He peers around the area where he is sitting. There are no objects near him save for a silver ring on the ground next to him. He picks it up and inspects it, running his thumb over the smooth metal. A crow is stamped into the top, protruding over the letters that line the bottom, _Ἔρεβος._ He slips it onto his right index finger and regards the old man, “No.”

“Didn’t think so. Look, I can’t have you hanging around next to my business, it’s unseemly. Do you have somewhere to go?”

“No.”

The old man sighs. “I figured as much. You dangerous? Into trouble with the law?”

“Not that I know of.”

The man regards him carefully. “Okay listen, I can give you a shirt and a pair of pants. They won’t fit you, but at least you won’t get arrested for public indecency. Then I need to send you on your way, alright?”

He nods, slowly rising to his feet. His legs are stiff and unsteady and he needs to brace his hand against the wall to guide himself along to the old man. When he reaches him, the man holds the door open for him and guides him inside. It takes a few moments before his eyes adjust to the dark interior, and when they do his mouth hangs open, his head beginning to throb even more.

He was right; something is very, very wrong. The room he is brought into has tall, sturdy walls, artificial light hanging from the ceiling. The floor is covered with a thick, soft fabric that feels nice on his bare feet. It is warm inside, but he doesn’t see a fire anywhere. There is a wooden table to the left of the room surrounded by several chairs covered in stuffed fabric. Smaller tables are dotted around the room, posts with artificial light on top of each of them. A short wall separates the room from a small seating area where an empty chair sits facing the main room.

The old man observes him looking around and sighs.

“Just take a seat, try not to touch anything. I’ll run upstairs and grab you some clothes,” he says before walking up the stairs at the far end of the room, creaking loudly as they settle under his weight.

Choosing not to listen to the old man, he ventures further into the room and walks down a long corridor, turning off to the left when the corridor opens up. He is brought into a bright room that is lined with short counters which are covered in small doors. A tall metal box stands in the corner and a round table rests in the middle of the room. He recognizes the loaf of bread that sits on top of it and realizes he cannot remember the last time he ate. It had to have been a long time, as his stomach begins to ache the moment he sees it.

He steps towards the table, his back turned away from the entrance of the room. He picks up the bread and rips off a large piece, stuffing it into his mouth. He nearly chokes at the foreign taste but his hunger persists and soon he has eaten several pieces.

Moments later he hears footsteps approaching and assumes it is the old man returning and pays it no attention. Instead, a small, high pitched shriek is heard followed by the thud of an object hitting the floor.

He turns his head and out of the corner of his eye he sees a young woman with brunette hair. She is wearing similarly unusual clothing, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Χαῖρε,” he says simply, turning back to continue eating.

The footsteps move swiftly away from him and a distant, “Luke!” is heard shouted from down the hall. He hears a set of footsteps creaking down the stairs, until both the old man and young woman are entering the room he is in.

“I thought I told you not to touch anything, I made that bread this morning,” the old man huffs and walks over to him, handing him some clothes.

“Luke, who the hell is this guy?” the young woman asks.

“I found him outside in the alley, I figure he woke up there drunk,” he says to the woman before turning to him. “There’s a bathroom down the hall, go get changed and we can get you on your way.”

He looks at the man and pauses, nodding slowly but not taking a step.

The old man, Luke, sighs and walks over to him, placing a light hand on his arm and guiding him out of the room. He brings him down the corridor and opens a door, gesturing for him to go inside and turning on the artificial light.

He blinks up at the ceiling, the light is shining down on him and making his eyes sore. He quickly puts on the clothes and moves his arms around, noting how restricted he feels in the odd fabric. It’s soft and light, but it can hardly offer any protection. He continues to look around the room. He briefly notes that his reflection is much clearer in the mirror than he feels is natural, and he runs his hand through his dark hair. He hears a knock on the door and opens it, stepping back out into the corridor where Luke is waiting for him.

“You can keep those, don’t worry about getting them back to me. You said you don’t have anywhere to go? Is there someone I can call for you?” Luke asks him.

“No, I don’t think I have anywhere to go. I don’t know of anyone you can… call.” He has no idea what that means.

He sees the young woman popping her head around from down the corridor and she offers him a small smile. He doesn’t return it.

“There’s a hostel down the road that would be pretty cheap to put him up in, Luke,” she supplies.

“Yeah, alright,” Luke sighs and gestures for him to follow into the first room they entered.

When they arrive in the room, Luke regards him and hands him a small, parchment like item.

“That’s 20 bucks, it should be enough to get you a night in the hostel until you can figure out where you’re going.” Luke then opens the door and places a hand on his back, slowly guiding him outside.

“Ποῦ ἐστιν ἡ εἴσοδος?” he asks instinctively. He tries again, “Where is the entrance?”

Luke waits a moment then says, “I’ll walk you over.” Then, “Be back in a minute, Reyna,” he adds to the young woman who silently waves at them.

Once outside again, he is reminded of how unpleasant everything seems in this place. He walks down the road with Luke, moving farther away from the road every time a loud, huge, metal box on wheels moves quickly past them.

Arriving at another building a few moments later, Luke opens the door for him and they walk up to a young man sitting at a desk.

“Hi, I’d like to book one room for tonight, please,” Luke says to the man.

“Absolutely, sir, what is the name for the guest staying?”

Luke turns to him, “Never got your name, kid.”

He stares at Luke, his brow creasing. His name. The effort to think of his name only makes his head hurt more. The only names that come to his mind are Luke and Reyna, but he knows he’s met more people, learned more names in his life. His cheeks warm, feeling foolish for struggling with such a simple task.

“I…” is all he manages before Luke’s facial expression softens.

“You know what? I think I forgot to give you something back at my place. Why don’t we head back that way?” Luke says gently to him before smiling apologetically at the young man and walks them back outside.

He doesn’t say anything, just silently follows Luke. None of this is right. His mood is rapidly depleting, he’s feeling more and more discouraged with every passing moment. The world feels unnatural to him, he can’t remember who he is or what his place is, and he’s forced to blindly trust the intentions of this old man. _Ἐλεύθερός εἰμι._ He should not rely on anyone. But he has no choice. He’s a man with no identity, no idea what’s going on, and no direction.

Arriving back at Luke’s, he takes the first seat he sees and leans his head back, closing his eyes. Everything about this day is exhausting.

“Reyna, head home for the night, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Luke says from the other end of the room.

“What? No, are you sure? What is he doing back here?” Reyna responds.

“I can’t leave this guy at the hostel, he seems like he’s got some kind of amnesia, I’m not sure he even remembers who he is. I’m letting him stay the night while he sorts himself out. It’s alright, go home for the night, I’ll pay you for your whole shift.”

“If you’re sure… I’ll see you tomorrow, Luke. Look after yourself,” Reyna says before getting up and walking towards the door.

“So,” Luke says walking over and taking the seat opposite him. “I’ll let you stay the night to get some energy in you, then tomorrow I think we need to get you to the hospital.”

He nods slowly, unable to protest.

“I’m going to bring down some blankets and you can sleep on the couch in my office. I’m going to trust you won’t try to run off with any of my stuff. But honestly, you look too wrecked to try anything like that,” Luke chuckles softly and stands, walking back up the creaky stairs.

He stays sitting silently in the chair while Luke is gone. He doesn’t have the energy to explore the room further, and he isn’t sure he wants to. Everything he sees proves to him more and more that he has no idea what’s going on. He feels wrong in his skin, in the world around him, and in his mind. He feels like a vessel to confusion, even the things that are vaguely familiar to him feel far away. His identity feels like it’s been shrunk to an atom, buried deep inside his stomach, like he’s been made to feel like an imposter in his own body.

When Luke comes back and brings him over to his office where the couch is set up for sleeping, he doesn’t mutter a word. He lays down on the soft surface, willing his mind to stop spinning.

With thoughts of loss, confusion, and an odd source of mourning, he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first fanfic and I'm sort of figuring out my ~process~ as I go along, but my goal is to update frequently, hopefully at least once a week.  
> Sorry there's so little Rey in this one! We'll get much more of her soon.  
> Please let me know if you have questions regarding the history behind this fic, I'm doing my best to be as historically accurate as possible.  
> Some questions you may have off the bat:  
> [Did ancient Greeks have mirrors?](http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/secondary/SMIGRA*/Speculum.html)  
> [What were ancient Greek houses made out of?](https://study.com/academy/lesson/ancient-greek-homes-courtyards-lesson-for-kids.html)  
> [Who is Ἔρεβος?](https://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Erebos.html)
> 
> Translations! I am attempting to use ancient Greek for the translations, not modern, which is why it might seem a bit funky. Also, the ancient Greek tradition is to use a semicolon in place of question marks, but I’ve used question marks in the writing to clear it up a bit.
> 
> • Τί γίγνεται; - What is happening?  
> • Τίς εἶ σύ; - Who are you?  
> • Ἔρεβος – Erebus, a primordial deity representing the personification of darkness  
> • Χαῖρε – Greek greeting literally meaning “hail” or “rejoice” but it’s an informal “hello” essentially  
> • Ἐλεύθερός εἰμι. – I am a free man


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke nods and says, “Alright, well we’ll head out after you’re done with your cereal. I don’t know how Reyna got you to eat that crap, I feel my teeth rotting from here.”
> 
> Rey rolls her eyes and looks at the strange man. He’s staring back at her, looking simultaneously like he can see into her soul and like he can’t figure her out at all. “It's her favourite,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which she supposes it is to him, considering the lack of memory he has right now. It’s not like that fact about her is wrestling any other facts in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much to those who have left comments/kudos so far!

* * *

Rey wakes up for work every day at 7am. She likes that it gives her enough time to let her coffee set in and beat the morning rush for the shower. The sounds of the subway stop on the corner of her street help to ease her awake. She can hear the faint sounds of the turnstiles creaking and the even more faint chime indicating the subway doors are closing. The sounds are comforting. They’re similar enough to the underground she was used to taking in London that it reminded her a bit of home.

After she’s finished with her simple morning routine, she begins to pack all of her textbooks and notebooks into her bag to lug to work with her. She’s fortunate that Luke lets her get on with her school work while she’s behind the reception desk. Switching to online classes and working full time was the only way she would ever be able to afford her apartment.

At 8am she hops on the J train going into Manhattan, happy to just sit and look out the window for as long as she’s above ground. Ever since she moved to New York from London 3 years ago for her degree, she takes every chance she can get to see as much of the city as possible. Luke has shown her around a little bit, but for the most part he just stays in all day. She can’t remember the last time he offered to show her a new part of the city – usually a park with some strange story attached to it.

_“My ex-girlfriend and I stole a cantaloupe from a street vendor and ate it in this park.”_

Or,

_“I saw a man get hit on the head with a baseball right over there. He was out cold for 5 minutes. His friends just got him a pretzel when he woke up and told him not to be such a schmuck.”_

When Rey arrives at Skywalker Funeral Home she lets herself in through the alley entrance and walks over to her desk to put her things down.

She’s about to turn down the hall to make herself more coffee when she hears a shout coming from Luke’s office. She slowly approaches the door, putting her hand on the doorknob when it’s yanked away from her. Suddenly she’s finding herself looking up at a very dishevelled looking stranger.

“Uh, hey. I heard a shout, you doing alright in there?”

“Ποῦ ἐστιν ὁ ἀνήρ?” He’s staring at her with an intensity that unnerves her. His tone is bordering on accusatory, as if it’s her fault that he’s disgruntled this morning.

“Sorry, you speak English right? I don’t know if Luke was just doing more of the talking yesterday or…”

“Yes. Luke, where is he?” He raises his eyes to peer above her head. It’s not difficult, he towers over her. Meanwhile, she would need to take a step to the side to look around him, the guy is _huge._

“Luke should be down soon. We open at 9 so he’s got about 10 minutes before he needs to be down here. Do you need help with anything? I can show you where Luke keeps the cereal?”

He turns his attention back to her. There’s something irritating about his expression, he looks almost condescending. Then before she knows it, he’s putting his hand against her shoulder and pushing himself past her without a word. Her reflexes kick in and she grabs his arm, yanking him back before he can walk away from her.

“What is your problem? Luke let you stay here, the least you can do is be nice about it,” she tells him pointedly, keeping her grasp on his arm. She doesn’t miss the way his arm flexes under her fingers in reaction. He jerks his arm away from her but doesn’t move.

“You’re right. I’m…not myself right now,” he says staring at her with the same intensity as a moment ago. His eyes look dark from here, but she isn’t sure if that’s the colour or the conflict. He tenses his jaw and takes a deep breath before adding, “Luke is taking me to the hospital today to see what’s wrong with me.”

That almost, _almost_ makes her feel like an asshole, before she decides that she’s pleased with the way she stood up for herself. She doesn’t get a chance to do that very often.

“Oh. That-that’s good. Hopefully they’ll have answers for you. Did you want that breakfast? Like I said, Luke will be down soon.”

He nods silently and follows her down the hall into the kitchen. When they enter the room, he begins slowly looking around, a puzzled expression on his face. She noticed he did that yesterday, too. Like everything about the place confuses him. Sure, it might be a bit strange that the funeral home has a full kitchen but she doesn’t think much of it. It’s mainly because Luke couldn’t be bothered to install one in the apartment upstairs.

“I have a question,” he says softly, but firmly. That’s another thing she noticed. Even when he can’t find the proper words, he speaks very matter-of-factly. He’s nothing if not interesting from a psychological standpoint. Rey decides to file him under: “Potential study candidate” in her mind.

“Go on then.”

“What do you call this?” he asks and she follows the finger he’s holding up, pointing to the fridge. Okay, she wasn’t sure what question she expected but that certainly wasn’t it. She chalked it up to the slight language barrier.

“You mean the fridge? Its full name is ‘refrigerator’ but that’s a mouthful. Why, what is it in your language? Which I gotta admit doesn’t found familiar to me,” she explains to him, watching him nod along as he absorbs the information.

“I don’t know. It’s just the first language that comes to mind,” he states. _This guy can definitely benefit from going to the hospital,_ she thinks before getting the cereal out of the cabinet for him. She prepares it for him also, she figures it’s the least she can do if he’s going to have a day of exams and testing.

He sits down at the dining table, the chair looking all too small for him. His eyes light up when he takes a bite.

“I take it you like Cap’n Crunch then, huh? It’s my favourite. I’m pretty sure Luke only buys it to shut me up when I don’t have time to eat at home,” she laughs lightly to herself.

With that, Luke enters the kitchen dressed for the day and makes himself a cup of coffee.

“That couch isn’t the comfiest but hopefully you slept alright. How are you feeling today?” Luke asks him, sitting at the end of the table when his coffee is finished brewing.

“I don’t remember my name if that’s what you’re asking,” he says through a bite.

Luke nods and says, “Alright, well we’ll head out after you’re done with your cereal. I don’t know how Reyna got you to eat that crap, I feel my teeth rotting from here.”

Rey rolls her eyes and looks at the strange man. He’s staring back at her, looking simultaneously like he can see into her soul and like he can’t figure her out at all. “It's her favourite,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which she supposes it is to him, considering the lack of memory he has right now. It’s not like that fact about her is wrestling any other facts in his mind.

The two men get up 10 minutes later, heading out the door to go to the hospital.

* * *

The rest of the morning passes without incident. She accepts a few calls from potential clients looking for quotes for funerals for their loved ones.

At around 1pm the mail comes. It’s the usual bills and Luke’s subscription to _Homes & Gardens. _Included is also a package addressed to the business. Luke instructed her to open the mail addressed to the business since it’s normally just marketing offers she can throw away. She rips open the yellow padded envelope and out slides a United States passport and a stack of cash, $1,000 in 20s if she can judge the thickness correctly.

Her curiosity gets the best of her and she opens the passport, assuming Luke ordered himself a new one and interested to see how terrible his photo is. Instead, she finds herself looking at the face of the strange man who stayed the night here. His hair is a little shorter, but his unique features are instantly recognizable. The name on the passport is Benjamin Douglas Solo, born in New York on July 6th, 1986. She puts both the passport and the cash in the reception desk, not knowing what to make of it. Now she knows his name, information not even he is privy to, but she’s only left with more questions. How did he have a passport sent here if he only turned up yesterday? Why is he being sent so much cash? Is the memory loss just a ploy? Surely not, nothing about Luke screams wealth.

She doesn’t have long to think about it, as Luke and _Benjamin_ walk back into the funeral home minutes later. Their facial expressions don’t reveal anything. Neither of them look particularly happy or disappointed.

“How did it go?” she asks, trying to sound casual.

 _Benjamin_ goes to take a seat on the couch at the far wall while Luke sighs and starts rifling through the mail on the desk.

“The results are going to be back in a week or so. They’re checking to see if he has any brain injuries that might explain the amnesia. Otherwise, he’s healthy as an ox. They can’t find anything wrong with him,” Luke explains.

“Luke… Can I talk to you upstairs for a minute?” Rey asks him tentatively.

Luke looks at her and nods, walking towards the stairs up to his apartment. She quickly grabs the envelope out of the desk and follows him. “We’ll be back down in a minute, make yourself at home,” he adds to Benjamin.

Once upstairs, Rey walks over to sit down at his dining room table and looks at him carefully.

“While you two were out, this package came. It was addressed to the business so I opened it. Inside there was a load of cash and a passport – _his_ passport. His name is Benjamin,” Rey gets out quickly, feeling oddly nervous. The knowledge that there’s an ever more confusing stranger downstairs capable of anything might be the culprit.

“Addressed here? What was the return address?” She hands the envelope to him and he inspects it, taking the passport out and opening it to the information page.

“There wasn’t one, but the stamp on it says it was shipped from here in New York. There was no name, no note, nothing, just the passport and the cash.”

Luke sighs and closes his eyes, tilting his head up towards the ceiling. A telltale sign that he’s considering his next move. He looks back down at the photo in the passport.

“Alright, well I don’t want you around if I confront him. We don’t know what he’s capable of,” Luke tells her gently.

“Like hell am I just going to let you talk to him alone, Luke. We’re better off calling the police,” Rey explains.

“I’m not going to call the police. He hasn’t broken any laws that we’re aware of. I think he can be reasoned with; we just need to be smart about it.”

That didn’t make Rey feel any better. For all she knew, the passport was some new identity he had been issued. He could be a con man, or much, much worse. All she knows is that she desperately needs answers or him _gone._

“I’m going to call him up here. I want you to go into my room and lock the door. You can come out if you’re needed but I don’t want him to be able to get to you if this turns sour,” Luke explained, his tone sincere.

That shut her up. She can never be annoyed at Luke when he proves how much he cares about her. He’s the first adult she can remember who does. Her roommates Rose and Finn are caring, but sometimes it’s nice to have an older figure looking out for your wellbeing. Maybe she’s just trying to fill a void she feels. She nods and walks into Luke’s bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

Through the door, she hears Luke calling to Benjamin from the top of the stairs. Heavy footsteps creaking closer soon follow and she hears Benjamin mutter, “Τί?”

“Hey, kid, take a seat,” Luke says followed by the scratching of dining room chairs across the floor. “A package came today in the mail that I think will interest you.”

She doesn’t hear Benjamin say anything, so Luke continues. “Inside the package was a passport and a substantial amount of cash. Does the name Benjamin Douglas Solo mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“Right. Well, the passport has your photo in it. Says here that Benjamin Douglas Solo is you,” Luke insists.

“I don’t know any Benjamin Douglas Solo. May I see?”

It’s quiet for several moments. Rey is almost tempted to walk out into the living room just to see the expressions on the mens’ faces.

Finally, Benjamin mutters, “This doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Okay. That’s alright, I didn’t think it would kick your memory into gear. Maybe we can head back to the hospital and check the name there to see if any records come up. We can do the same with the police. There must be some trace of you,” Luke suggests.

Benjamin is silent for a while, then, “What’s the point?” It doesn’t sound so much like a question as it does resignation.

“Benjamin…” Luke begins.

“Don’t call me that. I don’t know who that is.” Rey hears a chair scrape across the floor as if Benjamin stood up too quickly. “I have no idea who anyone is. How am I supposed to make sense of any of this when the name you’re telling me is mine means nothing to me?” He’s getting louder, she hears footsteps moving quickly across the floor like he’s pacing.

“It’s alright, we’ll figure it out,” Luke says gently.

“It’s _not_ alright,” Benjamin exclaims and she hears something crash, followed by footsteps running down the stairs.

Rey quickly opens the bedroom door and rushes over to Luke. He looks perfectly fine, always calm and patient. One of his dining room chairs is over turned, like it was thrown against the floor. She hears the front door slam downstairs.

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that reaction,” Luke says slowly, standing up to erect the chair.

* * *

Benjamin doesn’t come back for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations!  
> Ποῦ ἐστιν ὁ ἀνήρ; - Where is the man?  
> Τί? - What?
> 
> Curious to be able to properly visualise the spaces this is all taking place in? Say no more!  
> [Floor plans!](https://chainkinnix.tumblr.com/post/620267688356462592/funeral-home-main-floor-door-nearest-the-bottom)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will not disturb my altar, Ren,” a voice booms from behind him. He turns and is faced with the rage of Athena, her spear drawn up to his throat. Her eyes gaze into his, matching his height for every inch. Her golden hair shining despite the cloudy sky above them. 
> 
> “I wouldn’t dream of wasting my time doing such a thing, cousin,” he quips lazily, swatting the spear away and turning back to look at the offerings. “Not that it’s doing anything for them,” he adds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the quotes/dialogue taking place in “Then” chapters/sections are spoken in Greek but are being written in English for convenience. 
> 
> **CW: Descriptions of plague/sickness/death.** Brief description of what takes place in this chapter will be in the end notes.
> 
> I’ve also upped the rating for some of the more grim topics we’re going to be dealing with soon.

* * *

**_Then_** ****

The sick lay dying. Athenian citizens had been moved inside the city walls to protect them from the Spartans. No one could have predicted the plague that would kill them instead.

Agata and her husband Kleitos were doing what they could. They were two of the most fortunate in the city – they had both seen Kylo Ren’s face and survived. There are mass graves and funeral pyres overflowing with those who hadn’t been so lucky. The plague never touched anyone twice, so Agata and Kleitos spend their days tending to the sick. So many people died alone, unable to find anyone brave enough to look after them on their death beds.

They all knew it was a death sentence. More often than not, individuals who started to show symptoms would say goodbye to their loved ones almost immediately. It was no use fighting it. The black cloud of Kylo Ren hung in the air like a heavy fog. Never before had he been so effective. Agata heard whispers that the plague was a sign that the gods favoured Sparta. She knew that wasn’t true. Kylo Ren is many things but he isn’t biased. He is more than happy to take the young, old, Greek, or barbaric. He has no enemies; he has no favourites. Death doesn’t discriminate.

She watches as men and women tear through the streets, desperate to spend their money and enjoy their last days on earth. As if overindulgence would keep Kylo Ren at bay a day or two longer. Mostly she knows they are just trying to make themselves as happy as possible before they die. She understands that. When the plague first touched her, the only thing she wanted to do was hold her children. She knew she wouldn’t have much longer to do so. She fought the temptation, choosing instead to isolate herself away from her family as best she could. Kylo Ren took her children anyway.

She kneels by a young man who is laying down on the ground, his back propped up by a wooden barrel. She sets down the bucket she had filled with water, and gingerly brings a cup up to his mouth for him to drink. Despite his thirst, he is only able to manage a few sips before coughing prevents him from drinking any more. She looks him over. He has a severe fever, his skin red and blotchy. She tries not to touch him, afraid that even the gentlest hand would make his skin burn.

“Shh, my sweet, I’m here now,” she murmurs gently, “do you still have your voice?” The young man looks her in the eyes and slowly shakes his head.

“Alright, that’s okay, sweet. Don’t push yourself, just rest. I’ll stay with you,” she reassures softly. She raises her arms into the air, reaching towards the sky. Speaking quietly, she implores Kylo Ren:

“Oh him, who is merciless but palliating, come release this man from his pain,” she whispers, looking at the red, sore eyes of the young man in front of her. She sees his eyes widen in recognition, apparently noticing something behind her.

She knows Kylo Ren is there. She knows he is a severe sight, having seen him herself only a month prior. He is an incredibly tall, pale figure, and heartbreakingly handsome. As though he is the finest sculpture sprung to life, designed to tempt you to follow him into death. His hair is as black as the night sky, but his eyes a lighter brown than you would think. Tradition states that his dark hair is his wickedness spilling out of him, his light eyes reflecting the lack of depth in his soul. A harsh red scar splits the right side of his face. He is said to have gained the scar during a fight with Heracles, but no one can know for sure.

For all his terror, he is perhaps the god she respects the most. He isn’t petty like any of the others, he doesn’t choose sides, he cannot be bought or tempted. It is fact that his mere presence ends life. He is the most hateful, but he is also the most absolute and fair. Or perhaps that’s simply what she needs to tell herself to sleep at night. Perhaps those thoughts are the only way she can attempt to understand the senseless death of her children.

Within the blink of an eye, the recognition falls from the eyes of the young man in front of her, and he takes his last breath.

* * *

He sneers at their tears. Their wet noises and shrieks only fuel his hatred. He detests how weak death makes the mortal and immortal alike. They must have learned by now that tears and begging does them no good. He walks unseen through the bloodied streets of Athens, inhaling and smelling the plague around him. He did not create this plague, but he cannot deny the thrill he got when it first gripped the city.

He watches as those who are brave enough attempt to aid the terminally ill. It’s times like these when people actually call for him. He’s rarely wanted, and he’s summoned even more rarely. They know that the sun doesn’t shine when he is present, the air a bit cooler when he’s near. That’s how he prefers it. He wants to be left alone, and there is no presence more unwelcoming than his.

As he reaches the end of the street, he arrives at a small collection of offerings for his cousin, Athena. He scoffs at the pitiful attempts to garner protection from the patron goddess.

“You will not disturb my altar, Ren,” a voice booms from behind him. He turns and is faced with the rage of Athena, her spear drawn up to his throat. Her eyes gaze into his, matching his height for every inch. Her golden hair shining despite the cloudy sky above them.

“I wouldn’t dream of wasting my time doing such a thing, cousin,” he quips lazily, swatting the spear away and turning back to look at the offerings. “Not that it’s doing anything for them,” he adds.

“Of course it is. It brings hope to the people in my city to ensure I am watching over them,” she insists.

“If you believe that, you’re as foolish as the lot of them. Death is going to come to each and every one of them eventually. No amount of hope, tears, and trinkets will have any say in the matter.” He doesn’t look at her.

“And yet it’s you I pity, Ren. You, who shuts himself away without a second thought. The loneliness you subject yourself to will drain you eventually. Doesn’t it wear you down to know how hated you are?” She asks tauntingly, stepping around him to peer down at her altar. She kneels to right an overturned candle.

“That’s just it, cousin. When this plague runs its course and children and old men are dying in the streets, their skin burning so furiously they can’t tolerate their own clothing, their tongues bleeding and their bowels evacuating onto the streets in front of their neighbours. Then we’ll see which of us they call for. I am the only constant they’ll ever know.”

Athena disappears from beside him without another word. He can’t stand any of them. These gods who encourage mortals to grovel for attention. Who allow themselves to pick favourites and protect cities based off of who builds them the tallest temples. Who set the precedent that whomever praises them the best gets further in life. It’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever heard of. It’s an insult to think that these petty gods have any control over how long mortals survive. That right is his and his alone.

* * *

Kleitos watches as his wife Agata tends to the ill. She’s always had a bigger heart than he has. Since the death of his children, _may Kylo Ren be damned,_ he can’t find much will power to do anything anymore. He had the opposite response to being spared from death as Agata did. She chose to think that Kylo Ren was being fair, understanding that it wasn’t their time.

Kleitos has a different idea. He thinks – knows – that they were spared so that their suffering could continue. There is no other explanation. The plague cost him his children, his city, and his left leg. His livelihood is gone. He cannot fight, and therefore his honour is gone as well. The only bright side to losing his children is the fact that he won’t have to face the shame of being unable to leave them an inheritance.

He knocks on the door to a small home, “Are they any sick who need care here?”

An older woman walks up to him, “Yes, please sir, if you have any water. My daughter is parched.”

He hobbles inside the home and is guided into a small room where a young woman lies on a bed. She is feverish, but overall she could be much worse. He fills a small bowl with some water and passes it carefully into her shaking hands.

“What is your name?” he asks the young woman. She can’t be any older than 18, only a bit older than his eldest daughter was. He attempts to push the thought from his mind, turning his attention to the young woman in front of him. He could not save his daughter, but he can strive to help her.

“Elpis, sir,” she tells him, her voice coarse.

He grins. “Hope indeed, young one,” he says earnestly.

The older woman walks up to stand beside him, taking her daughter’s hand.

“The gods have abandoned us, sir. No one else has had the courage to help us, I cannot thank you enough,” she tells him sincerely, placing her other hand on his shoulder.

“The gods have nothing to do with it. We knew this was coming from the south and nothing was done about it. Spartan raid would have been a kinder fate.”

The older woman hums in agreement.

“Stop your complaining. I’d rather be taken by Kylo Ren than by the end of a sword. Foolish men fighting over land is a much more pointless way to die,” Elpis exclaims after finishing a second bowl of water.

“You say that now, but you haven’t seen the face of Death. My wife and I have. It’s a horrible thing. A terrible, sneering, broken face. Hair as dark as his soul. A sense of hate washes over you, like you can _feel_ his contempt for you coursing through your body. Listen to me, no matter your opinions on war or sickness, promise me that you will fight this disease. His is not a face I would welcome so freely,” he retorted.

Elpis casts her eyes downward, and nods, having nothing else to say. Kleitos hands her another bowl full of water, her thin, dehydrated hands reaching out to take it from him. He’s pleased to see that the disease has not had the opportunity to spread further.

He knows he’s meant to feel like he’s one of the lucky ones for surviving, but mostly he feels tired. It’s been day in and day out of suffering. Men he knew in childhood rotting away, their bodies being worn down to nothing. The indignity of the disease is what he has the most difficult time processing. The utter helplessness of it, the reliance on the kindness of strangers. The disregard for the dead. There is no time to mourn, only to dispose of the bodies so that they do not infect others. He cannot remember ever feeling so powerless in his life.

* * *

Kylo Ren can’t remember the last time he felt so sure of himself and of his place. He is sitting on the steps leading up into the Parthenon. It had only been completed a year or two ago, and he holds a vague sense of pride at the knowledge that the temple did nothing to prevent the plague. _Athena cannot help you._

He peers down towards the city, watching the smoke rising from each of the funeral pyres. They serve to darken the sky even more than he does. Each billow of smoke reaching towards the clouds like beacons of death. He inhales, feeling the wooden decay fill his lungs. He mindlessly runs his fingers over the carved stones under his hands. He’s pleased that no temples have ever been built for him. If they had, it would mean he had given the idea that he can be placated.

He is turning his gaze towards the mountains when he hears it. A soft pulse, muddled with static. The static sits in his throat, tugging at him, and he rises to his feet.

In a moment he is standing at the feet of an old woman. A child is holding her hand, kneeling down at her side as he takes in the scene. The woman has shallow breath, her hand which is not being held resting limply on her stomach. The child begins to cry, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he utters prayers to Athena under his breath.

The static in his throat grows stronger, more urgent, and he slowly walks around the boy to stand at the side of the old woman. He reaches out his hand and places it on the woman’s forehead, feeling the pulsating static in his throat fade. The feeling turns to honey and soars through his veins in a rush as she stops breathing. He doesn’t spare either of them another glance as he leaves the home one soul fewer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We meet Kylo Ren during the plague of Athens. Descriptions of sickness, death, and reactions come from him and his victims.**
> 
> For the best description of the plague of Athens during the Peloponnesian War, see [ Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, 2.48-52](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Thuc.+2.48&fromdoc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0247)
> 
> For those familiar with Greek mythology, Kylo Ren is [Thanatos,](https://www.theoi.com/Daimon/Thanatos.html) the god/personification of death. The name change was obviously for the purposes of the story. There’s a disappointingly small amount of literature regarding Thanatos, so I’m using what I have available to me as a base. For the rest of his role/personality, I’m expanding on my own. Regardless, [here](https://chainkinnix.tumblr.com/post/618741422925004800/thanatos) is some character study info I’ve been using to compile Kylo Ren’s personality. 
> 
> As for the other gods I’m incorporating, I’m pretty much going to keep their original names/roles the same. So here, [Athena](https://www.theoi.com/Olympios/Athena.html) is the name of the god who is the patron of Athens. 
> 
> Here’s some background information on the [Parthenon.](https://www.britannica.com/topic/Parthenon)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She lets her eyes leave his face, trailing them down his body. It’s clear he hasn’t changed or showered since he left a few days ago. His hair hangs flat, his ears revealing themselves through the limp waves. There are bags under his eyes that suggest he didn’t rest very well wherever he had found himself to sleep. His shoulders sag slightly. For his cocky attitude, he certainly isn’t holding himself like a self-assured man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief mention of death/funeral. General funeral home stuff

* * *

He doesn’t go back for three days. He isn’t even entirely sure why, it wasn’t like he was going to find any answers away from Luke’s. On the first day he left, he wandered aimlessly down the road, walking until his bare feet hurt too much to go any further. He walked into a store, found a pair of shoes, and wordlessly put them on and left without paying.

By the second day, the odours around him grew closer until he realised he was beginning to smell. The clothes that Luke gave him held the scent of the city close to his skin. He didn’t sleep the first night; he was too concerned with exploring. The world around him was harsh and loud and people whipped by him on the streets, either narrowly avoiding him or shamelessly smashing into him. That night, he laid down on the grass under a tree at the edge of a wide open field and stared at the leaves until he fell asleep.

That, at least, felt vaguely familiar to him. He had walked into the woods enough that the sounds were deadened, and he could hear himself think for the first time since waking up. He had searched his memory, and still found that the first one he could place was waking up outside of Luke’s door. The more he pushed himself to discover answers the more his head ached, until eventually he gave up on the cause. It became clear to him that thinking as hard as he could would get him nowhere.

By the third morning, the pain of his empty stomach woke him up. A horrible cramping feeling rippled through his core and rose up through his body, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since he left Luke’s. Pushing himself up from the grass, he stood to orientate himself and began to walk back. He wasn’t happy about it, but he knew that going back to Luke and Reyna would be the only way to survive while he tried to figure out his head.

* * *

Rey meanders towards the front door of the funeral home at 8:45 in the morning. She’s staring down at her phone reading an email from her professor that had come through when she regained signal after exiting the subway. Recognising the stoop of the building next to the funeral home out of the corner of her eye, she mindlessly reaches into her pocket to retrieve the keys to the side door. Turning her attention away from her phone to unlock Luke’s, her eyes instead meet the chest of a very tall stranger who ran out of her life a few days prior. Startled, she takes a step back and turns her eyes up to look at his.

“Oh! Ben, you came back,” she comments, sounding surprised and a bit suspicious. She notices how he tenses a bit after hearing the name they had discovered was his.

He looks at her and gives her one curt nod before, “Ποῦ ἐστιν τὸ δεῖπνον?”

She sighs, stepping around him to walk towards the alley, but remaining firmly on the sidewalk in full view of anyone walking by.

“We’ve been over this. English, please, I have no idea what language that is. Look, we don’t want any trouble. If you’re here to take advantage of Luke, turn around and leave right now. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s too kind for his own good. He doesn’t have any money if that’s what you’re after,” she firmly states. She tries to stand taller and square her shoulders as to not be so physically overpowered by him.

He has the gall to look amused by what she says, his eyebrow quirking upwards. _This cocky prick_. Then she hears his stomach rumble over the noise of cars going by, and his amused expression fades. He tries to run a hand through his hair. She watches how it gets stuck in the tangles before he gives up and drops it back down to his side.

He takes a deep breath and seems to hold it, his eyes flickering down the street. She watches as he slowly takes a couple steps closer to the funeral home, turning away from the cars and passers-by before he releases the breath.

“I’m not intentionally taking advantage of anyone. I don’t want Luke’s money; I don’t want any trouble. I want…” he trails off, a crease between his eyebrows forming. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he finishes lamely.

She lets her eyes leave his face, trailing them down his body. It’s clear he hasn’t changed or showered since he left a few days ago. His hair hangs flat, his ears revealing themselves through the limp waves. There are bags under his eyes that suggest he didn’t rest very well wherever he had found himself to sleep. His shoulders sag slightly. For his cocky attitude, he certainly isn’t holding himself like a self-assured man.

She wordlessly turns down the alley and unlocks the side door, holding it open to allow him to follow her inside. He quickly jumps at the opportunity, stepping inside behind her.

“Luke will be down soon,” she mutters, removing her bag from her shoulder and placing it under the reception desk. She turns to walk into the kitchen to make herself some coffee, and she feels him following close behind. She doesn’t exactly feel comfortable with him standing so close to her, but she pays it no mind.

“Is there food? I am very hungry,” he asks, walking towards the table where he found bread on the first day he was here.

“Why does it feel like every time I see you there’s always food involved? We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she teases before walking over to the fridge. She reaches in and hands him a Tupperware container full of the pizza she and Luke had for lunch the day before. She watches with amusement as he seems to be confused by it before taking a bite.

She waits until he has a couple slices in his stomach before commenting, “Not for nothing, but you could really do with a shower and some fresh clothes, you stink.”

He looks down at himself and scrunches his nose when he gets a whiff. At that, Luke walks in from the hallway and takes in the scene, raising an eyebrow before catching Rey’s eyes. She gives a vague _everything is fine_ gesture before he turns to finish making the coffee. If he thinks it’s strange that Ben is back after a few days, he doesn’t lead on.

“Can Ben use your shower?” she asks before Luke can get a word in.

“Yes, it would be better for all of us if he did,” he says to her before turning his attention to Ben. “I’ll give you another set of clothes for today, but you should really get your own. Mine don’t fit you,” he adds, looking at the way the shirt Ben’s wearing tightens around his arms.

“We have an appointment with a family at 10, but we don’t have a funeral today. I can take him shopping at lunch if you want, Luke,” she suggests.

Luke nods towards her. “Follow me upstairs, I’ll show you how to use the shower,” he offers to Ben. She watches as Ben slowly rises to his full height, noting how the entire room appears smaller for it. The two head off down the hall together while Rey moves to wash the Tupperware in the sink.

Part of her is pleased that she’ll have time to chat to Ben more one on one. She doesn’t exactly trust him, but she can’t deny that he appears to be genuine. At the very least, he’s too tired to try to pull anything while they’re out. Besides, they won’t be left truly alone together, the overcrowded nature of New York City ensuring that.

Her roommates Rose and Finn were less than impressed by Rey’s acknowledgment of Ben’s presence at the funeral home. In fact, Finn instructed her in no uncertain terms to stay as far away from the man as possible. Unfortunately for Finn, it seems as though he has the precise characteristics that, for whatever reason, make Rey all the more likely to do the opposite of whatever he advises.

Setting the Tupperware aside to dry, she grabs a cup of coffee and walks back to set it on her desk. She unlocks the front door to the funeral home before sitting down to check her work emails. She sets up a further two consultation appointments while she waits for 10am to roll around.

When Ben comes downstairs with Luke around 9:45, his expression can only be described as mystified. His wet hair hangs on his shoulders, dripping down the front of the dark red t-shirt Luke lent him. He’s wearing a pair of Luke’s old basketball shorts, and she notices he has retained an impressive amount of muscle tone despite having an uneven eating schedule.

“I’m going to take a meeting in my office at 10, you can wait in the kitchen out of the way while I’m busy,” she hears Luke explain to Ben. He nods and Luke walks towards his office to wait until Rey brings the family through.

A few moments later, a middle aged man followed by his wife and two other women walk in and approach Rey at the reception desk. She gives them a friendly smile.

“Hi, I’m Marcus Corsi, we’re here for a meeting with a Luke Skywalker?” the man states to Rey.

“Of course, I’ll bring you right through. Who do you have with you today?”

“This is my wife, Nathalie, and her sisters Sarah and Olivia. I’m just here for support,” he elaborates gently, putting his arm around Nathalie.

Rey smiles at the women he’s with before standing and gesturing for them to follow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ll bring you through to Luke now. Can I get you any tea or coffee?” Rey asks before knocking gently on Luke’s office door, pushing it open a second after.

They head in and settle on the chairs and couch inside, all of them shaking their heads save for one of the sisters who mumbles, “Black coffee, please.” Rey nods and softly shuts the door behind her as she leaves towards the kitchen.

This is the worst part of her job. The knowledge that the people she meets are hurting and the most she can do is offer refreshments and sympathetic smiles. She can’t remember the last time she properly grieved. She can remember feeling sadness when her parents left her with her Aunt Maz, but she can’t say she properly grieved the loss of them. Even when she was 8 she seemed to understand that her parents didn’t seem to be around as much as her friends’ parents were.

When she was placed in Maz’s care, she quickly noticed the difference. Suddenly she had someone there who would pick her up from school every day, go to all of her football games before she quit, let her have friends round for sleepovers. She supposes the closest thing she’d felt to grief was when she left Maz for New York.

She’s so lost in thought that she almost doesn’t notice Ben sitting at the kitchen table. Or laying, rather. He’s leaning forward, his head placed on his crossed arms in the middle of the table, breathing deeply. She begins to make coffee, careful not to make too much noise and wake him up.

While she waits for the cup to brew, she takes a moment to look at his sleeping face uninterrupted. His black hair has had the chance to dry a bit, and it’s begun to form soft waves as it rests against his pale cheek. _Bit of a piss take that this man’s hair is so much nicer than mine after air drying._ His t-shirt is bunching around his arms just as much as the previous one did, and the way his arms are positioned allows her to notice just how large they really are.

She hears the coffee machine putter to a finish and she quickly turns around to pour it into a mug, pushing her thoughts of the man out of her mind. She places the mug on a saucer along with two packets of sugar and a small spoon and walks it back to Luke’s office.

Knocking again, she opens the door and silently places the coffee in front of the woman, noting the tears on her cheeks. She wordlessly reaches and hands her the box of tissues that sits on the table before excusing herself to go back to her desk. Forty-five minutes later, Luke is exiting his office with the family and shows them outside.

“Their services are going to be in three days. If you could send them an invoice, we should expect the first payment tomorrow,” he instructs Rey, holding the empty coffee mug in his hand to be washed.

“I’ll do that right now,” Rey turns to her computer to send the invoice along to the family. When she’s finished with that, she unlocks the drawer to her desk and finds the stack of cash that was included in the package to Ben. She takes out $200 in 20s, unsure of how many clothes Ben will need, and places it in her wallet.

* * *

Rey doesn’t disturb Ben at the kitchen table for the rest of the morning, waiting until 12:30 to go get him for shopping on her lunch break.

She quietly walks through the kitchen and stands next to him, unsure of how to go about waking him up. She’s always been weird about waking anyone up, as if she’s nervous about how they’ll react. She distinctly remembers refusing to ever wake up any friends at a sleepover if she woke up first, choosing instead to lie there awkward and bored. She blames her pre-programmed British politeness.

She places a tentative hand on his shoulder and gives him a gentle shake, unsurprised when he doesn’t move a muscle. One of his hands has stretched out on the table, his arms still placed firmly under his head. She takes a deep breath and reaches her hand out, taking his outstretched one and giving it a squeeze. Almost immediately, he draws his hand back, slowly raising his head in confusion over what disturbed him.

She gives him a small smile, “Sorry to wake you, but it’s lunch time and we need to get you some clothes.”

He nods before sitting up and stretching himself against the back of his chair, bringing the backs of his fingers up to rub at his eyes.

“I grabbed some cash from the stack you were sent, I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine,” he says sleepily before standing up and stretching his arms up to the ceiling, his fingers brushing against it. Rey walks them out to the main entrance, grabbing her bag from underneath her desk and shouting to Luke, “We’re heading out, see you in an hour!”

She leads Ben out the door and to the right, walking with him a little awkwardly. His long stride means that he has no issue keeping her pace, but his walking in general seems a bit stunted. It’s as though he’s uncomfortable walking around the city altogether, and she’s struck again with the realization that she truly has no idea who this man is.

Is he from New York? Surely not, or he would be more comfortable with the atmosphere. Though she figures she could contribute that to his memory. Could he have forgotten how to coexist around other people? Can memory loss be that severe? She knows she won’t find the answers from him, but she can try to investigate as much as she can.

“So, this might be a stupid question, but do you have any idea what style clothes you like to wear?” She prompts.

“I have no idea,” he says sullenly. She purses her lips and nods, feeling awkward for having asked.

A few moments later they arrive at TJ Maxx, and she walks inside ahead of him.

“Alright, so men’s should be upstairs. We can grab you a toothbrush and that kind of thing, too, if you need it,” she says mostly to herself, noting how he’s taking in everything around him.

“Come on, then,” she goads, walking towards the UP escalator. Approaching it, he looks at her like she’s grown a second head before gently placing one foot on a step. He lets his foot get taken away from him before abruptly jerking his other leg behind. A soft chuckle escapes from her mouth and he looks at her, confused.

“Sorry, it’s just that you looked so much like Buddy from Elf just now and… never mind,” she trails off. He looks quizzically at her before quietly mumbling, “Right…”

The step off the escalator is just as awkward and then they’re faced with a wall of men’s clothing.

“So, if you don’t mind, since you don’t seem to have any preference, I guess I’ll pick out some clothes for you? We’ll need to figure out your size. We might struggle to find any long sleeve shirts that fit your arms properly,” she explains to him, who remains silent. _So much for chatting with him one on one._

She walks around, grabbing various shirts she thinks will look good on him. She mainly opts for dark colours because _sue her_ she likes men in dark colours. After pulling a collection, she motions for Ben to come over and dumps the lot in his arms without a word as she walks over to the wall of jeans. She grabs various waist sizes, sure to only pick long styles.

Satisfied, she guides him over to the fitting rooms, adding, “He’s got 8 items,” to the attendant. He wanders in, looking equally confused and unbothered by what’s going on. He wears an air of disoriented indifference, as though he’s beginning to accept that he has no idea of what’s going on around him, ever.

10 minutes pass and Ben doesn’t come out.

“Sorry, do you mind if I just…” she begins towards the attendant, who waves her off with a kind of disinterest she can usually only ever achieve when Luke rambles about gardening.

She ambles past the woman, calling out Ben’s name once she reaches the main co-ed hallway of fitting rooms.

“Δεῦρο ἐλθὲ καὶ βλέπε,” she hears from the fitting room up ahead on the right. She knocks on his door and he opens it, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a dark green and black button up shirt. Her first thought is that she’s proud of guessing the correct sizes. Her second thought is _goddamn._

“They look good, how does it all feel?” she asks, looking him over. She tells herself it’s because she wants to ensure the fit is correct. In reality, she’s really just noticing how attractive he actually is. The shirt draws attention to his wide shoulders, the jeans accentuating his long legs and she’s reminded again how _large_ he is.

If he notices her staring, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he says, “Restrictive, but comfortable,” and turns to look at himself in the mirror. He runs his fingers down the buttons, feeling the plastic with a creased brow. If nothing else, the man fascinates her to no end.

“Alright, well change back into your other clothes and grab whatever else is in your size. You can change back into these after we’ve paid and they’ve taken the security tags off,” she says to him, waiting for some form of acknowledgement from him. She gets it in the form of him wordlessly pulling the jeans down his legs, and she shoots her eyes up towards the ceiling.

“Really, mate, you can’t just pull your trousers down without warning me,” she exclaims before turning around and walking back towards the exit of the fitting rooms.

A few moments later he walks out to where she is waiting, his arms full of some of the clothes she picked for him. She gives him a small, exasperated smile and walks towards the check out.

“Why are you so nice to me?” he questions out of nowhere. She looks at him and finds he’s looking straight ahead.

“I mean, you haven’t really given me a reason not to be, have you?”

He hums before asking, “What were the people there to do earlier at Luke’s?”

“They were getting a quote for a funeral,” she says, trying desperately to keep her voice even as to not let on to him how obvious his question was.

“And you made them coffee,” he states and her step falters. She stops and looks at him.

“You were awake? How do you know I made it for them?”

“You use a heavier mug when you make coffee for yourself, and you don’t bother putting it on a plate,” he says easily. She’s once again taken back by the amount of information he seems to gather. For someone who doesn’t remember a thing about himself, he quickly catches on to details about her.

“I made one of them coffee as a comfort, it’s not easy to plan a funeral for a loved one,” she explains to him after collecting herself again.

He doesn’t say anything, but she can _swear_ she hears him scoff at that. She files that away for later.

“I can't imagine this is easy for you, either. I can’t fathom not remembering who I am or where I came from,” she says to him softly, trying to prompt something, _anything,_ out of him.

His facial expression softens at that, and he looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He takes a moment before speaking, standing next to her in the check-out line.

“It’s hard to say. I don’t know how to feel because I can’t remember if this should be strange or not. For all I know, this is normal and I should be content,” he says, but it feels forced. As if he’s trying to censor himself as he speaks.

“But…” she prompts.

“But I know that’s bullshit. My skin feels wrong,” he says bluntly, and it’s both unexpected and somehow what she hoped for. She has half a mind to write her psychology thesis on him.

“For what it’s worth, I’m here to talk if you ever want to. Even if you just prattle on about how you’re feeling. Luke seems happy to take you in; I’m just going to have to trust his judgment while we wait for your test results from the hospital,” she tells him, trying to sound comforting. She thinks it works, he takes a deep breath and nods.

When they reach the cashier, she gestures for him to place the items on the counter and she pays for them. She takes the outfit he wore earlier out of the bag and sends him off to change back into it.

She can’t get over how strange it all is. She’s trying to force herself to trust that this man is genuine in his confusion, rather than trying to take advantage of herself and Luke. _Surely he would have tried to get me to buy the clothes for him if that was the case._ She also can’t get over how fascinating she finds him. There’s a near child-like nature to him, like he’s seeing everything for the first time. Yet it’s clear he isn’t stupid, he speaks too eloquently for that. Not to mention being bilingual.

She decides to take the new relationship for what it is, choosing to set her suspicions aside and aim to crack his shell the best she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just curious, does anyone prefer Rey or Ben's POV more?
> 
> Translations:  
> Ποῦ ἐστιν τὸ δεῖπνον; - Where is the food? [a bit different from the English he used with Rey after. We stan one (1) rude king]  
> Δεῦρο ἐλθὲ καὶ βλέπε. – Come here and give it a look.
> 
> You can find the outfit I picked for Ben [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XslaWRgKoFE) It’s one of my personal favourite looks on him so I figured I’d let Rey pick him out something nice ;)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke brings him into his apartment where he had taken a shower earlier that morning. He couldn’t remember ever feeling water like that, the pressure beating into his skin like a million hot stones. It’s one of the few foreign things he’s done that he’s desperate to do again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive Ben POV!  
> CW: Brief description of panic attack symptoms. To skip, stop reading at **She turns her attention back to him.** You can start reading again at, **“Let’s get back to Luke’s, you can rest for a while.”**
> 
> My beautiful moodboard is by [fettuccine_alfreylo!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fettuccine_alfreylo/pseuds/fettuccine_alfreylo) Thank you again <3

* * *

The clothes feel strange. He can tell by their look and from Reyna’s reaction that they fit properly, but they feel foreign on his skin. He can think of no discernible reason why. He’s eaten, he’s relatively rested, yet he still can’t shake how off he feels _._ _Ἓ_ _ν οἶ_ _δα ὅ_ _τι ουδὲ_ _ν οἶ_ _δα._

The walk back to Luke’s with Reyna is awkward. He knows she wants him to speak to her, he can see her peering at him out of the corner of her eye. She assumes he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t know how to tell her that paying attention to her helps to get him out of his own head. A place where he is desperately trying to discover and run from simultaneously.

In fact, he doesn’t know how to tell her anything. His instinct is to be honest with her, but he isn’t sure of what the truth is. What he _does_ know is how unusual the notion of someone wanting to be there for him is. While he doesn’t necessarily feel like he is a bad person, he knows he wouldn’t have made coffee for a grieving family. He’s confident that the thought never would have occurred to him. It makes her offer to talk to her for comfort all the more confusing, the entire concept feeling murky in his mind.

He makes a point to always walk as close to the buildings as he can. They’re so tall, impossibly tall, his neck sore from straining his head to look at them when he was on his own. As different as they are, they’re the closest thing that he can find to familiarity. He winces, hearing a series of horns come from the large, metal boxes on wheels on the road. He doesn’t think he’ll ever adjust to the sounds. He isn’t convinced he’ll ever adjust to any of this.

He takes a deep breath, the same sour feeling filling his mouth as it always does now. He allows his feet to follow Reyna, willing himself to acclimate. He tells himself that it will be alright, that he just needs to get used to this world again. It’s a losing battle. He feels like he’s being torn every which way, an unease rests firmly in the base of his throat. No amount of reflection or acclimation over the past few days has settled it.

At that moment, a man taller than Reyna but shorter than him collides with her shoulder, sending her backwards into his chest.

“Oy, watch it-” she begins, before his body reacts faster than he can account for.

His left arm works to catch her, while his right reaches out to grab the man’s upper arm roughly. He yanks the man towards him before placing both hands on his chest, shoving him towards the ground with his full weight behind it. The man grunts as he hits the ground, shouting vaguely at him. He doesn’t pay him any attention.

The next thing he feels is Reyna’s hands placed against his own chest, stepping in front of him.

“Ben! Jesus Christ,” she begins, before turning around to the man on the ground. “Sir, are you alright?” she asks him, as he gets up and glares at the two of them before stomping off down the street. She turns her attention back to him.

He knows she’s speaking to him, her eyes wide, her mouth moving. Angry? He can’t hear her over the pulsing in his ears. His own heartbeat? It feels like his head has been dumped in water. His breath feels heavy in his mouth, everything is faded but blaring, urgent. _πα_ _ῦ_ _ε!_ His ears are deaf and pulsating and ringing. He feels his own legs slowly guide him to the ground, the stone building a cold shock against his back. This has never happened before; he would remember this. He feels Reyna’s hands hot against his and he shakes them off, gripping his shins instead, his knees tight to his chest. His head is swirling, like something is fighting for dominance in his mind. He can’t tell if he’s winning or losing.

He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head hang, exhausted from what feels like a battle against _everything._ A deep, desperate knocking in the back of his skull feels like it’s going to crack his head open. He might let it just to make it stop.

Slowly, softly, he hears her again. “Ben, I know, breathe, it’s okay…” she urges, her voice rising above the muffled noise of the street.

“Hey, yo, is he alright? You need water?” he hears another voice ask from further away. “No, no thank you, he’s okay,” she mutters to him quickly.

“Ben, look at me. You’re okay, just breathe,” she assures. He slowly opens his eyes and meets hers instantly, her face barely a foot away from his. “That’s it, just look at me, focus on me and breathe,” she takes in a few deep breaths, keeping eye contact with him.

“That’s great, you’re doing great, keep breathing slowly, nice and deep,” she says, and he has no choice but to listen. He doesn’t know if he controls anything anymore.

He slowly feels himself coming back, whatever that means. Reyna gives him a small smile, “There you go, you’re okay. Do you have panic attacks often?” He shakes his head slowly.

“Alright, I know they’re scary, but you’re okay. Just keep breathing nice and slow and steady. Do you think you can stand or do you need a minute?”

He moves to pull his feet under himself, feeling her hand at his elbow to help stabilize him as he rises. He takes one last deep breath once he’s on his feet, clenching and unclenching his hands down at his sides. He feels blood rushing back into his head, the pulsating fading with every breath.

“Let’s get back to Luke’s, you can rest for a while,” she suggests, placing her hand gently on his back. He slowly twists his torso, discouraging her touch. He’s grateful that she takes the hint easily. They walk down the street and around the corner before she speaks again.

“Ben, uh… What was that back there? I mean, with shoving that guy, you can’t do that,” she explains to him, turning her face up towards him to gauge his reaction.

He doesn’t answer her. He can’t make sense of what just happened to him, let alone explain it to someone else. He just tilts his chin up higher, as if to trick himself into thinking everything is okay. His skin feels flushed and sweaty, once again reminding him of the foreign, uncomfortable nature of his own body.

He turns his eyes towards the street and sees various flashes of yellow fly by. Families rush past, men seeming to speak to no one shout at street corners. He doesn’t dislike it, he just can’t understand the urgency of everything around him. To his core, he cannot fathom what could be so important to these people to cause them to rush everywhere they go. His legs naturally move at a contentedly easy pace, the length of them propelling him more quickly than he chooses.

Upon reaching Luke’s, Reyna opens the front door and holds it open for him to let him inside. He immediately walks across the room to the chairs at the far wall and drops himself into one with a huff. She sets his bags down next to him and walks away down the hall. He hears the bags shift lightly, the high pitched crinkling irritating his ears. He places one firm hand down onto the bag to force it down all the way and stop its moving.

He shifts his weight backwards, letting his head hang against the back of the much-too-soft chair. The only thing he can think about it how much he wants to be left alone. The problem is that he doesn’t actually _have_ anywhere that’s his where he can shut himself away. He’s exhausted. From the world around him, from the new experiences, from the confusion, from the talking. He gets the sense that he’s never enjoyed being around people for too long. There’s no way this could be normal, not with his chest feeling as heavy as it is.

Reyna comes back a moment later and places something down on the table in front of him. He opens his eyes and takes in the glass of water she’s given him.

“You need to drink; it can only help. Do you have a headache?”

“Ἀεὶ,” he mutters, not bothering to elaborate.

“Right… I’m going to take that as a ‘yes,’ so, here,” the places a small, white, oblong item on the table. “It’s just paracetamol, it should help,” she adds.

“I don’t need your help,” he says firmly. He closes his eyes again, his hand coming up to cover them to block out the light. The fierce, unnatural light that beats down on his face like a small sun. It makes his eyes burn.

“I’ll make you a deal, you drink the water and I’ll leave you alone,” she protests.

“μαλάκας,” he exclaims before removing his hand from his eyes and leaning forward. He passes her a glance before taking a deep breath and reaching over for the glass of water. He puts the small white item in his mouth before drinking, desperate for his headache to go away.

“Wait, did you just say _malàkas_? I know that word! I’ve heard them say that on Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey. My roommate Finn plays it religiously, are you speaking Greek?” She inquires excitedly.

“You said you would leave me alone,” he reminds her, turning his head to look at her. He watches as her excitement fades, replaced by a look of disappointment. He can’t bring himself to care.

“We still need to talk about what happened back there. I get that you don’t have your memory but you _do_ know that you can’t just go around shoving people, right?” she goads, before Luke walks into the room from his office.

“Reyna,” he says to her firmly, drawing her attention before adding, “Lunch break is over, I need you on the phones.”

He watches with disinterest as she picks herself up and walks towards her desk. She casts him one last look, a tired look that says, “ _I tried_ ,” and he doesn’t know why, but he feels his stomach drop marginally.

“Benjamin, take your bags and come with me,” Luke demands to him.

He debates ignoring him in favour of the small semblance of peace this chair brings him. That is, until a small voice in his head reminds him that there’s nothing stopping Luke from turning him out on the streets. He sighs and stands, taking his bags in one hand as he turns towards Luke.

Beginning to turn to follow Luke as he walks up the stairs, he casts a look at Reyna. She seems to be adamantly ignoring him now, her help having been turned away.

“Thank you for the water,” he mutters in her direction, not waiting for her to acknowledge him before turning away up the stairs.

Luke brings him into his apartment where he had taken a shower earlier that morning. He couldn’t remember ever feeling water like that, the pressure beating into his skin like a million hot stones. It’s one of the few foreign things he’s done that he’s desperate to do again.

“Sit down, kid,” Luke instructs, walking over to the table in the middle of his main room. Ben does as he’s told.

“I’ll make this simple. I’ll let you stay in my guest bedroom while we wait for your results. I know you don’t have any money, and I can’t afford to pay you. So I’ll tell you what, volunteer downstairs with Rey. Just… make her life easier. She has a lot on her plate with school work. Help her make coffee for families who come to us, run errands every now and then. Think you can handle that?” He offers, walking over to the door to the left of where the bathroom is.

Ben gets up and walks over to Luke, looking inside the room he’s being offered. The bed takes up the whole wall, a big, soft thing that makes his bones yearn to lay on it. A wooden box of drawers sits just in front of them on the wall. He steps inside, looking around the space. He’s grateful for the offer, but he feels uneasy.

“Why? Why are you offering me this?” He demands of Luke. The idea of taking any kind of gift settles like a rock in his stomach and he feels his skin begin to burn. It’s not okay for someone to be offering him something, he can’t be bought. _Ο_ _ὐ_ _δυνατόν_ _ἐ_ _στιν._ His fists clench and unclench at his sides, unsure of what to do with the building energy he feels.

“Alright, kid, take it easy. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want. But the way I see it, you can stay here and help out downstairs, or it’s back to the couch in my office. I know first-hand just how uncomfortable that thing is, and I can actually fit on it,” he explains, looking up and down Ben’s body to prove a point.

“I just… help out downstairs and I sleep here? That’s it? You don’t want anything from me?”

“No offense, but I don’t think you have anything to give me whether I want it or not. Which I don’t. This isn’t a trick, Ben,” he finishes gently, stepping back from the door to let Ben out.

It still feels wrong. He already has no idea what’s going on around him, the concept of someone essentially owning him makes his skin crawl. His eyes drift back to the bed, the throbbing in his head urging him to lay down and rest.

“If I take it, I can leave whenever I want? I won’t owe you?”

“You can leave whenever you want, you won’t owe me a thing.”

Ben turns back to Luke, taking in the older man. He’s a shorter man, his sagging shoulders doing nothing to help the effect. He scans his face, looking for any insight into what his intentions could be. He finds nothing. He isn’t sure if that’s a comfort.

“I would like to sleep here,” he decides, giving Luke one solid nod.

“I had a feeling you might say that,” Luke says as he tosses him a small key. “That opens the apartment door only, not the business downstairs. If you want to go out after we’re closed, let me know. Use the drawers for your clothes, extra towels are in the storage room outside the front door. I make dinner downstairs every night at 7, you’re welcome to join me. Other than that, you’re good to go. I’ll leave you to it.”

He can only blink as Luke relays the information to him. He hears as Luke walks towards the front door, closing it firmly behind him, leaving Ben alone. It’s the first time since Luke’s office that he’s truly on his own save for the changing room and the bathroom. He’s grateful for it. He can feel himself breathing more easily with each passing second.

He decides to take the opportunity to walk through the space. Turning right out of the room he now knows as his, he walks over to the window on the far wall. He peers down at the street below, the muffled noises breaching the glass. For several moments he just stands there watching. Thousands of people moving quickly by. He can’t get a good understanding of any of them. Wealthy, poor, healthy, sick, they’re all moving too fast. He’s certain that wherever they’re going can wait.

He turns his nose up and away from them, looking to the wall on the left. He sees a shiny, thin black box mounted on the wall and walks over to it. A much smaller plastic box sits on a table and he picks it up, his fingers pressing over the soft buttons. A moment later, the box on the wall lights up, noise roaring throughout the room. He’s so startled that he’s afraid he breaks the small box in his closed fist. He slowly opens his hands to find it still intact, and he exhales the breath he doesn’t remember taking.

He walks closer to the box on the wall, looking at the moving images. He stands there until his eyes begin to throb, at which point he sits down on the couch opposite the wall. He has no idea what it is or what’s going on, but he finds himself enthralled by whatever is on the moving screen. He presses more of the soft buttons under his fingers, watching as the images change and different people are brought before him.

He doesn’t know how much time passes and soon, he’s laying down on the couch falling asleep to the soft voices of the strangers on the wall.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, confused Ben is so much fun to write except for, y’know, all the feelings. I didn’t know I needed him discovering TVs but I am so glad for it.
> 
> Fun fact about me, I once fainted on the subway in NYC while I was on my way to work. About half a dozen people flocked to me at once to make sure I was alright. So the man on the street asking if Ben’s alright is my little nod to that experience :)
> 
> Also I apologise if some spellings might be weird throughout. I’m from NY but I’ve been living in the UK for the past 4 years, so my spelling has become a mixture of both. So if you see British spellings for some words and American for others, just know that I’m just as confused about it as you are. 
> 
> If you’d like to take a look at the floorplans for Skywalker Funeral Home (and Luke’s apartment), don’t forget you can do so [here.](https://chainkinnix.tumblr.com/post/620267688356462592/funeral-home-main-floor-door-nearest-the-bottom)
> 
> As always, let me know any questions you have regarding the history, etc.
> 
> Translations:  
> Ἓν οἶδα ὅτι ουδὲν οἶδα. - I know that I know nothing.  
> παῦε – Stop.  
> Ἀεὶ - Always, or “at all times”  
> μαλάκας – Literally means “wanker” but you can kind of think of it like “fuck,” very versatile common word  
> Οὐ δυνατόν ἐστιν – It is impossible


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s fit, okay? Like, really, confusingly good-looking. Happy?”
> 
> Finn leans back against the arm of the couch and shoots her a smug smile. “Thrilled. And pretty surprised, you never talk about guys,” he expresses, eyebrows raised.
> 
> “I’ve never seen a guy’s bare ass before I’ve seen his face, so,” she points out bluntly, picking her rice back up to finish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of illness/death/brief violence towards the end of the chapter. (Hence tags for graphic descriptions of violence, you get it)
> 
> Reminder that all dialogue in “Then” scenes is Greek but is written in English for convenience. 
> 
> My beautiful moodboard is by [fettuccine_alfreylo!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fettuccine_alfreylo/pseuds/fettuccine_alfreylo)

* * *

“He kinda sounds like a tool.”

Rey and Finn are sitting on the couch in their living room eating leftover Chinese food. She had just finished telling him about Ben’s odd shift in moods earlier that day. She pours some more soy sauce onto her egg fried rice and finishes another bite before answering.

“I don’t know if I’d say that. He’s just… prickly,” she replies, not quite sure she believes it herself. Finn is quick to notice.

“The man can’t so much as thank you for helping him out and you say he’s just ‘prickly’? Why is Luke putting up with him?” He contests, scraping the last bit of chow mien out of his bowl, frowning when he uses too much force and a noodle falls into his lap.

“He did thank me! It just took him a minute. I think Luke just feels sorry for him. It’s not like Ben is the first stray he’s taken in,” she mutters, watching Finn battle with the inner conflict of deciding whether or not to eat the fallen noodle. He does.

“It’s not the same, you weren’t naked and homeless when you turned up at his door asking for a job.”

“No, but I did basically say, ‘I have no qualifications but I’m a student and it would be so nice if you let me in,’” she argues, setting her rice down on the table. “Like I told Ben, he hasn’t really done anything to make us not be nice to him. I think he’s just forgotten how to… people.”

“I still say you try to stay away from him, nothing good can come of spending time with him. Even if he’s not that bad, he probably isn’t sticking around. Don’t forget you literally have no clue who the guy is. For all we know, he lost his memory in some freak accident when he was robbing an old lady,” Finn insists, setting his empty container next to Rey’s.

Rey rolls her eyes at that. She knows Finn is exaggerating, but she can’t deny that he has a point. No one knows anything about Ben. Hell, _Ben_ doesn’t even know anything about Ben. She sighs and turns her full attention to Finn.

“I don’t plan on spending any more time with him than is necessary. You’re right that he could be anyone, but it’s not fair to assume the worst. I’m going to give him benefit of the doubt. At least make the most out of the situation while he’s around.”

Finn regards her for a moment before quietly folding his hands on his lap and tilting his head at her. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “The situation, eh? Just curious, Rey, since you haven’t really brought it up. But, uh, what’s this guy look like?”

Rey feels her scalp burn hot immediately, and she squirms trying to come across as casual and as unbothered as possible. “Dunno why that’s relevant,” she tries, desperately trying to remember everything she’s read about looking convincing while lying.

“Mhmm,” Finn raises an eyebrow at her, staying silent to prompt her to elaborate. He’s always been able to see straight through her and she knows it.

Ever since she had moved in with Finn and Rose 3 years ago, it’s felt like they had known each other their entire lives. They’ve always done an amazing job to make her feel heard and appreciated, and never alone.

Giving up on the façade, Rey chooses her words carefully. “He’s… tall. Like, significantly taller than me and I’m above average. He’s not scrawny though. He’s got long black hair and, I dunno, he’s unique looking.”

“Unique.”

“He’s fit, okay? Like, really, confusingly good-looking. Happy?”

Finn leans back against the arm of the couch and shoots her a smug smile. “Thrilled. And pretty surprised, you never talk about guys,” he expresses, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve never seen a guy’s bare ass before I’ve seen his face, so,” she points out bluntly, picking her rice back up to finish it.

“You got me there.”

* * *

The next morning when Rey gets to work, she’s surprised to see that Luke has already unlocked the door downstairs. She sets her bag behind her desk and walks down the hall towards the kitchen where she can hear cups rattling around.

Luke’s voice begins to come into range. “… but if you get confused, here are the operating instructions,” she hears him finish.

She walks into the kitchen and takes in the scene. Luke is standing between Ben and the coffee machine, the floor covered in what looks like frothy milk. Ben is holding the operating instructions. She can see from the coloured tab on the side that he’s looking at the Japanese instructions rather than the English.

“What’s going on in here, gentlemen?” she asks, looking between the two of them. Luke looks entirely more at ease than Ben does, who looks as confused and frustrated as ever.

“Ben’s going to be volunteering here with you in exchange for the spare room upstairs. I’m trying to teach him how to use the coffee machine. He’s getting the hang of it,” he explains before walking over and grabbing a towel. He throws it on the floor before mopping up the milk with his feet.

She looks towards Ben who seems to be reading diligently and walks over, peering down at the page. He’s looking at what seems to be the ‘warning’ page.

“You can read Japanese?”

“Hm? Oh. It would seem so,” he mutters and his brow creases. He pulls the pages further away from his face, as if he’s only just realizing he isn’t reading English.

_Curiouser and curiouser._

She turns her attention back towards Luke as he picks the dirtied towel off the floor and tosses it on the counter.

“Volunteering here? Doing what?” She didn’t realize she needed help.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re handling everything on your own just fine. But we can always use an extra pair of hands, especially when you’ve got deadlines. He’s going to be helping with making coffee, cleaning, whatever you’d find the most helpful,” he explains to her, a small smile on his face.

Rey nods lightly, watching Ben read out of the corner of her eye. She remembers Finn’s warnings.

“Ben, could you give us a second?” she asks him. He shrugs and walks out of the room without looking up from the instructions.

“I don’t really need any help, Luke, honestly,” she explains. Luke sighs and walks over to the dining table, sitting down and gesturing at the chair opposite him. Rey takes a seat and chooses her next words carefully.

“I’m giving him a chance and I want to get to know the guy, but he did something a little odd yesterday,” she continues. Luke regards her with a sincere, if not vaguely bored expression, nodding at her to keep talking.

“I was explaining to Ben why I was making coffee for the Corsi family, you know about comforting them and things like that, and he _scoffed_. As in scoffed at the idea of comforting them,” she pauses, trying to gauge Luke’s reaction, “which was weird.”

Luke is silent for a moment, quietly appraising her.

“Reyna, do you remember when you came to me asking for a job?” He doesn’t wait for her to respond before continuing, “You barely had any work experience, let alone any experience in reception or funerary care. You explained that the work would be beneficial to your degree and you asked me to take a chance on you. Sounding familiar?” She feels her stomach drop and she nods gently.

“I hired you because I had a good feeling about you and because I believe everyone deserves a shot, especially when they’re brave enough to ask for help. I know you weren’t there when I took Ben to the hospital, but there was more involved than just an MRI.” He leans back against the chair, slouching a bit. His long hair falling in different directions around his ears. He folds his hands on his knee before continuing.

“They did an autobiographical memory interview with him to diagnose how severe his memory loss is. Before even going in for an MRI, the doctor said Ben’s answers indicated a nearly unprecedented level of retrograde amnesia. He told us that any number of symptoms can come up. Imagine you wake up tomorrow in an unknown place around strangers and have no idea who you are. That’s enough to make anyone cranky.”

Rey stays silent. Her thoughts drift to the man in the other room entertaining himself with coffee machine instructions. Luke’s words reverberate in her mind and her heart starts to ache.

“You’re studying social psychology and grief, right? You know that everyone handles grief differently. Ben is grieving his entire identity; you can forgive him for reacting oddly to some things. He needs our kindness right now.”

It hits her stomach with a heavy regret that makes her feel like she’s been impaled. She feels like she should walk into NYU and explain why she doesn’t deserve her degree. She’s been so busy focusing on why they shouldn’t trust this guy, she forgot the magnitude of what he’s going through.

“You’re right, Luke. I’m being an asshole,” she resolves. He gives her a small, understanding smile.

“That’s the last word anyone could use to describe you, Reyna. You care about me and this place, no one can blame you for that,” he says, his voice comforting. He reaches one of his hands out towards her, palm up. She takes it and he gives her one firm squeeze before pulling away and standing up.

“Now, I’m heading to my office. If you want to show him where the cleaning supplies are, the vacuum can be his next project.” He turns and walks away, leaving Rey to stew in her thoughts a few moments longer.

* * *

**_Then_ **

“I hate that man,” Athena states, walking down the corridors of Snoke’s home in Samothrace. She is gripping her spear in her right hand, knuckles turning white. She has witnessed countless in her city be taken by _Kylo Ren_ , the bastard.

Her nephew called her for news of the plague, she ensured him that he would remain safe. It’s not the first time she has had to come to his aid. For all his power and her brother’s blood coursing through his veins, he is not invulnerable. A sick crack lays in his head from the attack of a servant. She had needed to intervene to save his life; a lesser man would have succumbed to his injuries.

She’s happy to do it, Snoke is the only one of her siblings’ children whom she can say she respects. Her brother, Ares, has little time for his son, claiming he is too mortal, too weak to do what needs to be done. Ares has no idea how much of him lives on in his son. Snoke inherited his anger, lust for violence and control, and, most significantly, his hatred.

Over the years, she has tried to instil logic and strategy into Snoke’s mind, believing he could be truly powerful if he thought with his mind rather than his heart. He’s too passionate for his own good, and often allows his temper to run away from him. She’s taught him to _think_ before he acts, and over the years he has become more absolute, strong-willed, and determined. She couldn’t be more proud.

“I doubt I need to ask who you’re referring to, aunt,” Snoke states, turning into his garden and taking a seat on the stone wall that encompasses it. She sits next to him, her robes tickling the ground near her feet. She turns her face up towards the warm sun, relishing in the fact that its presence means Kylo Ren is nowhere near them.

“For centuries I’ve watched that man be a slave to his arrogance. He thinks himself better than us, the pitiful fool. The way he speaks to me is unforgiveable.” She feels her rage building and she bites her tongue, turning her attention to her nephew. He is regarding her carefully, ever the diligent listener.

“He disposes of the weakest humans and spares us from seeing them rot, surely that is a good thing.”

“He took your mother. Does that not offend you?” She asks him, turning her head towards the smell of saffron that lines the walls of his garden.

“I was offended to have a human as a mother. As far as I’m concerned, he did me a great service to dispose of her for me and remove the shame.”

She hums and closes her eyes, enjoying the peace of his company and the garden. Birds can be heard chirping a short distance away, their small songs resonating through the air. It’s warm, the air settling on her skin in sheets. The cool wind mixes the smell of the ocean with the flowers around her, calming her.

The birds begin to grow louder, their songs morphing, turning ugly and unrefined. She opens her eyes and looks South towards the noise. Their sounds transforming into screams in her head until it becomes piercing and she needs to make it stop. Wails cut through the shattered peace, pleas reaching her ears and echoing in her chest.

She stands and closes her eyes, listening. Her fingers reach to grip her staff. _No._

A moment later and she’s standing in her temple in Athens, looking out over her city. She inhales and focuses on the increasing wails, the sound of them as loud and urgent as they’ve ever been. She follows them and arrives at a mass of people. Her eyes scan over the crowd, their despair evident on all their faces as candles are lit in desperation. She hears their pleas sail into her chest, feeling a thick rush of protectiveness wash over her. 

She looks towards the sky, the clouds thick and wide, blocking out the sun entirely. _Him._

* * *

He doesn’t consider himself to be a happy man. He doesn’t see the point. He feels that for there to be happiness, there must be a root of that happiness. Roots can be taken away - he knows that better than anyone.

He hasn’t left Athens for days. When it was brought to his attention that Pericles had fallen ill, it was all too tempting to wait for his time to run out. He’s sitting on a boulder watching candles being lit to Athena. Watching their hopeful fingers deftly manipulate the flames. Listening to their pleas cut through the air like desperate, ragged knives.

He leans back, his right arm reaching behind him to support his weight. The metal of his ring clinks against the stone. He shifts his weight to his left arm, bringing his right hand into his line of sight, the silver of his ring standing out against beige backdrop around him. The crow protrudes proudly from the ring, the letters _Ἔ_ _ρεβος_ engraved deeply into the surface. The memory of his mother giving him the ring faded a long time ago. Longer ago still is the last time he saw his father.

The ring used to signify family, to remind Kylo of where he came from. His mother had good intentions when she presented it to him. Now, however, the ring serves as a reminder of how little he needs anyone else. To remind him that people leave you of their own volition, intervention isn’t always required.

Perhaps that’s why he finds tears and grief so amusing. _θάνατος ο_ _ὐ_ _δὲ_ _ν διαφέρει τοῦ_ _ζῆ_ _ν._ It doesn’t change anything. Everyone you love, and everyone who loves you will leave whether they have a choice in the matter or not. The sooner the mortals realize that the better. Taking loved ones to teach them all a lesson is perhaps the closest he ever comes to happiness.

He looks up from his ring to the crowd in front of him again. A small grin barely teases at his lips as he watches their sadness grow. As he surveys the crowd, he locks eyes with his cousin, her golden hair rising above the rest of them. His grin morphs into a smirk and he gives in to the urge to roll his eyes at the look of disgust on her face. He waits patiently as she approaches him.

“You never look happy to see me, cousin,” he notes, relishing in the satisfaction of seeing her nostrils flare. Athena towers over him where he sits.

“You would take Pericles,” she accuses, disbelief in her voice. “He’s the only hope they have.”

“Perhaps they should have placed their hope in a man with a stronger immune system,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. He turns his back on Athena to pick up a small stone and feel it in his hand. “He crumbled faster than most.”

“There is still time. You don’t have to do this.”

“You are so right, he isn’t dead yet. Tell me, cousin, why shouldn’t I take him? What could someone like you possibly offer me in exchange for his life?” He tempts her.

“You want to bargain, Ren? Let the man live, give him more time against the Spartans. This war will not last forever. Take him then. Give them a chance. Then take whoever you want,” she pleads with him.

All the humour falls from him, his face contorting into a scowl as his steps closer to her. Rage fills his stomach and heat floods through his veins as his arms vibrate with need to lash out. He crushes the stone in his hand, his fists clenching until his fingers ache under the pressure.

“You dare to insult me in this way, Athena? You should know better than to barter with me,” he starts before a pulsing static begins to grow in his throat. A tugging pulls on his chest, beckoning to him. He huffs out a humourless laugh.

“It is my pleasure to tell you you’re too late. I have a general to take,” he growls before turning away from her towards where he knows Pericles lays dying.

As he begins to walk away from her, he feels her hand tight around his left forearm, holding him in place. He places his right hand on her wrist, turning back around to face her. Yanking his arm from her grip, he uses his left hand to come up and squeeze around her throat, his right hand tugging her spear out of her grasp and holding it against her abdomen.

“You would lay your hands on me? Really? You disappoint me, cousin. Your wisdom has faltered,” he barks, pressing her spear into her stomach and looking down, watching her blood grow around the metal. He looks back up into her eyes, watching her pain intensify before pulling the spear away and tossing it aside.

“You will be wise to remember who I am,” he states before releasing her and turning away, following the pulsating static in his throat.

He arrives at Pericles’ side, looking down at the man who was meant to lead Athens to victory against the Spartans. He places his hand against the man’s forehead with more force than is strictly necessary, the static fading. He feels Athena’s presence behind him, her hot, golden anger coursing throughout the space. He meets her eye as he turns around, walking out of the room and leaving her to deal with the tears of those who bore witness to Pericles’ death.

* * *

" _There is nothing in the world so terrible and fearful as the fact that one comes like the wind and departs as a breath, and that neither justice nor oppression are apparent in this. Whether you are a king or a pauper you will discover no rhyme or reason to it. But one must act well, with valor and chivalry, and you must eat well and rejoice._ " - Ferdowsi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there isn’t much Ben in this chapter. Have no fear, lots of Rey/Ben interactions coming up shortly. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who’s read and left kudos/comments! Please keep them coming, it makes my day. 
> 
> Translations:  
> θάνατος οὐδὲν διαφέρει τοῦ ζῆν. - Death in no way differs from life. (I know I said “then” scenes are written in English, but some phrases I feel are important to be left in Greek, especially when it comes to the characters’ thoughts)
> 
> Some info/questions you might have:  
> I’ve added Rey’s apartment with Finn and Rose to the floor plans you can find [here](https://chainkinnix.tumblr.com/post/620267688356462592/funeral-home-main-floor-door-nearest-the-bottom).  
> Where is Samothrace? Right [here](https://chainkinnix.tumblr.com/post/620209197684080640/samothrace-and-athens-are-circled-ill-re-upload)!  
> What are some flowers that were in the Ancient Greek world? Did they have any particular meaning/significance? [Let’s find out!](https://www.theoi.com/Flora1.html)  
> Who was [Pericles](https://www.ancient.eu/pericles/)?  
> Thucydides on Pericles’ death can be found [here](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Thuc.+2.43&fromdoc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0247).  
> Reminder on who Erebos is can be found [here](https://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Erebos.html). Myths are inconclusive as to whether or not Erebos is actually Thanatos’ father. Some myths say he is, others say Thanatos doesn’t have a father. I’ve sort of tried to bridge that gap but going the absent father route. 
> 
> As always, feel free to ask any additional questions you may have!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes a moment to stare at her, as if trying to work out a pros and cons list for getting lunch with her. His gaze is intense, his face entirely unreadable. _Will I ever know you?_

* * *

“… don’t put it near any cables or anything you don’t want it to suck up. It’s pretty strong, so only use it on the carpet, the broom is better on the kitchen floor,” she explains, watching Ben mess with the hose connected to the vacuum.

It’s difficult to tell whether he’s enamoured by it or utterly confused. She supervises as he begins to move the vacuum over the floor, noting how careless he is about running it into the walls.

“Maybe try a lighter touch, you don’t want to chip the paint or dent the skirting board. Luke is forgiving but he spent ages decorating,” she winces, and he softens his grip on the handle.

He moves around the space like he’s trying to memorise the shapes of the walls, as if tomorrow he’ll wake up blind and need to navigate in the dark. His eyes always flitting around, uncertain about where he is.

“If you want to keep going with that, I’m going to head back to my desk to get some work done. Come get me when you finish and I’ll show you some of the cleaning products we have,” he waves her off, never taking his eyes off the floor. He seems fascinated with watching specks of dust fly into the suction, going over spots several times until he’s satisfied.

Happy to leave him to it, Rey walks back to her desk to schedule some appointments. The free time away from cleaning means she’ll have some extra time with her school work.

She knew her degree would be challenging, but some of her advanced electives have been proving themselves to be more work than she bargained for. Working full time hasn’t exactly been conducive to getting her assignments done. She quickly realized why “student” is an occupation choice on most forms.

She’s starting to think that Luke has a point, leaving Ben to handle some of her usual tasks will mean she can get significantly more work done. Assuming he doesn’t accidentally make _more_ work for her. Which seems like it’s entirely a possibility.

Three hours pass and Ben is still vacuuming. She walks through and finds him in the services room, the carpet streaked with the evidence that he’d been working through the room for a while. He had moved every single chair aside, determined to get the dust that had settled in the imprints from the legs. Admittedly, she usually just left the chairs where they were and vacuumed as closely to them as she could.

He seems content to carry on, his brow furrowed in concentration, his arm whipping the cord out of the way when it threatens to move under the wheels. His back is turned to her, so she has some time to watch the way his muscles move under the dark blue t-shirt he’s wearing. Her grumbling stomach soon demands her attention instead.

“Ben,” she calls out. He doesn’t so much as move a muscle in acknowledgement.

“Ben,” she tries a bit louder, walking over him to place her hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

He quickly startles. His shoulder moves away from her touch as he whips his head around to see where the offending hand comes from, looking downright appalled. He makes eye contact with Rey and settles, taking a deep breath and reaching down to turn off the vacuum.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I… Do you want to grab some lunch? I know of a nice café close by that has soups, salads, that kind of thing. I dunno what kind of food you like, we can go somewhere else if you want,” she snaps her mouth shut when she realizes she’s rambling, her cheeks growing hotter in his silence.

He takes a moment to stare at her, as if trying to work out a pros and cons list for getting lunch with her. His gaze is intense, his face entirely unreadable. _Will I ever know you?_

“I’m not finished with the floor,” he finally gets out, his eyes drifting over the carpet.

“It looks great! You can always get back to it after lunch if you want, it’s only an hour. Luke will be thrilled with what you’ve done, though,” she insists, giving him an encouraging smile. “So, lunch?”

He gives her a curt nod, abandoning the vacuum where it is. She turns on her heel to walk out, feeling him walking closely behind her.

Grabbing her bag from her desk, she heads out the front entrance and guides Ben down the street. She’s unsurprised by how quiet he is. It only makes her more curious. Has he always been a quiet man? Or is that a side effect of his memory loss? Does he want to speak? Is he unsure of whether he should? She resolves that she’s going to spend lunch attempting to get as many words out of him as possible.

* * *

They arrive at the café – a small, decorative place with outdoor seating. Ever since she moved to New York City, she’s tried to sit outside as often as the weather allows. She can’t get enough of the pace or the attitudes of the people. She likes to sit and people watch, making up stories about who they are and where they’re going. She wonders what story she would have made up for Ben if she saw him walking by down the street.

She thinks the story probably would have been solemn, matching the mood he tends to wear around him like a thick coat. Maybe he would have just lost some big promotion, and he was trying to walk off the frustration with heavy, stunted steps. Maybe he would be on his way to the gym to hit a punching bag because he had just gotten into a fight with his girlfriend. Mostly she thinks she would have found it a shame that he tends to walk as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. She would have thought that he’s a man that should be seen.

She sits down at the small table first, smiling up at him and nodding to the chair across from her. Their knees touch when he takes his seat, the denim causing friction and making the contact produce more heat than it should.

“Is there anything you’re in the mood for?” she asks him, picking up her menu to look through the choices. She isn’t sure there’s a point, she gets the same meal every time she comes here.

“I can’t say there is,” he mutters, looking over his own menu. His eyes scan the page, not really looking like he’s actually _seeing_ any of the choices.

“Well, I’m getting the soup and salad combo. My flatmate Finn usually gets a BLT; he says it’s pretty good. Do you want something hot or cold?”

He shrugs, his eyes still searching over the pages.

“I can choose for you, if you’d like? If you don’t like it I’ll just take it home for dinner and you can get something else,” she offers, watching as the waiter walks over to their table. Ben nods at her, shrugging and setting the menu down.

“Good afternoon. Can I start you two off with something to drink?” The waiter asks them, notepad in hand.

“Yeah, hi! I’ll have a water with lemon, and,” she nods towards Ben, who raises an eyebrow at her, “… and he’ll have the same. We’re ready to place our food orders too, if that’s alright.”

“Sure thing, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have the soup and salad combo – broccoli and cheddar with a chicken Caesar salad. He’ll have the BLT with a side of fries,” she tells him with a smile, waiting for confirmation that he got it all down.

“Gotcha, I’ll bring your drinks right out,” he smiles and heads off back inside.

Ben hasn’t taken his eyes off of her as she speaks, not sparing a single glance at the waiter.

“How is it staying upstairs with Luke? I like to imagine he’s a really messy roommate, always leaving his socks laying around on the floor,” she chuckles lightly at her own joke, her fingers picking at the paper napkins on the table. If he thinks her pathetic attempt at small talk is strange, he doesn’t let on. He pauses to consider her question before answering.

“The bed is soft, but it’s very loud at night. I don’t sleep well,” he admits, lowering his eyes to watch her fingers twiddle with the napkins. One thing she most assuredly _has_ learned about him is his bluntness. Though she suspects that someone in his situation has no real reason to hide anything.

“The noise is a lot for you, then? You could always get some ear plugs to help you sleep. Or invest in some white noise, like a fan or a sound machine to drown out the city.”

He nods at that, then seems to realize what she said. “Add more noise? Is that not worse?”

“I know, it doesn’t make much sense, but I promise it works. I always have a fan on for the sound and the breeze. I prefer sleeping in cool rooms, it makes me think of London,” she smiles at him, noticing how intently he listens to her when she speaks. The intensity of his eyes on her is something she’s not sure she’ll ever get used to.

“London. That’s where you’re from?”

“Mhm! I moved here a few years ago. The cooler, rainy weather is one of the things I miss the most,” she informs him as the waiter walks up with their water. He sets them down on the table and utters that their food will be out soon. Ben still doesn’t pay him any attention.

He hums quietly. “It does seem unusual that the sun is out so much,” he comments, taking a drink from his water and scrunching his nose at the lemon.

“Right? I’ll never get used to it,” she reaches towards her own water, accidentally hitting her funny bone on the edge of the table. The impact jolts her hand, prompting her to dump the entire glass of water all over her lap. She grabs her elbow and groans before she’s distracted by a loud sound opposite her.

She looks up and sees a wide, toothy grin on Ben’s face, quiet laughter coming from his mouth. She laughs along with him, the look on his face completely distracting her from the pain. She realizes it’s the first time she’s actually seen him smile and she admires his deep dimples, his imperfect teeth. She barely mutters a “thank you” to the waiter as he brings out their food.

They make easy conversation for the rest of lunch. As each minute ticks by, she’s filled with more and more pride at how many words she’s able to get out of him. For every moment he has no information to offer her, he asks her questions, ever eager to learn more. He listens intently, and she finds herself hoping that she can serve as a reprieve for him – a safe place away from the bullshit that is his current situation.

She likes talking to him. She finds herself opening up more quickly to him than she normally would, though she can’t easily identify why. With his abruptness and curiosity, she doesn’t see a reason to omit anything from him.

He finishes his entire sandwich and polishes off his fries quickly. She’s not surprised, someone his size surely requires a substantial amount of food. She makes a mental note to order him something bigger the next time they go out.

* * *

He decides that talking to Reyna is enjoyable. Her face is bright when she speaks, excited and shameless. _Ὡ_ _ς καλή_ _ἐ_ _στιν._ Mostly, she allows him to think of something, anything, other than how lost he feels. He accepts the moment of peace for what it is. He never knows how long these moments will last before he’s caught up in his own discomfort.

When they begin to walk back to Luke’s, he asks Reyna if they can stop and purchase a fan. He hadn’t identified that a soft breeze is something that he had been sorely missing. It feels like one small puzzle piece is set into place, and he wonders briefly if she can help him with more.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short chapter but I’m excited to see these two grow closer.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Your kudos and comments make my day <3
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://chainkinnix.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/ChainKinnix)!
> 
> Translations:  
> Ὡς καλή ἐστιν. – How beautiful she is.


End file.
